


December 4th, In Which John Gets Dumped

by Thette



Series: A December Tale [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bitterness, Break Up, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Post-Season/Series 01 AU, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:18:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thette/pseuds/Thette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has to make up his mind about what he wants in a relationship. </p>
<p>The second in a series of loosely connected stories about December 2010, written between series 1 and 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	December 4th, In Which John Gets Dumped

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: awahlbom. Originally posted [here](http://rosemaryfic.livejournal.com/7506.html) December 4th 2010.
> 
> In this part, John is bitter, and it shows. The generalisations are not intended as accurate descriptions.

John tried to shake the snow off his feet and carefully closed the door to 221 B behind him. He slowly ascended the seventeen steps up to the flat, leg twinging in pain. Sometimes, it didn't matter that he knew the pain wasn't physical. Those days, he missed his cane. Standing at the top step, he steeled himself. There was no point in delaying this further. He had to face Sherlock.

When he hung his coat next to the door, he could hear Sherlock behind him. "Something happened to you, and it was not pleasant."

"Brilliant deduction. Care to tell me how you figured that out?" He couldn't hide the annoyance in his voice.

"You're early. Your normal dates with Beatrice last for at least three hours, often four. It's less than two hours since you left. You don't smell like Indian food, so your dinner date didn't happen, and you haven't been close enough to her to pick up her scent. You're also wet, indicating that you've walked home in the snow."

"She dumped me. Or we kind of dumped each other." He could feel his mixed emotions rising like a bad heartburn.

Sherlock's eyes widened. Please, John thought, don't say my fantasies brought this on. As through some miracle of social graces, Sherlock didn't go for the most embarrassing response. "Are you going to blame me for your relationship failures, as you usually do?"

"No, it's actually not your fault this time. You haven't met her, you haven't interrupted our dates, and I haven't talked about you more than reasonable. We were just not looking for the same thing. Better to find out sooner than later, I guess." It still hurt like hell, though. He sat down hard in the armchair. "It's difficult finding a woman my age who wants what I want."

"Let's see. Is this a matter of children? You have some traits of a good father, in theory at least. You're a doctor, which means you have a reasonably good social status and earning ability, and also that you're good at taking care of people. You're a soldier, which means that you're loyal. Your manners are very kind, and you seem to get most people to like you on first sight. Probably because of the way you smile at practically everyone, especially women."

John could feel a blush coming on, and tried a feeble joke. "I'm sure you'll bring up my lack of fashion sense if you go on."

"I hadn't intended to, but your jumpers are the perfect fuzzy camouflage for a man who can kill without remorse." Sherlock chuckled. "Not that the women you're dating know about that. I doubt it's what they're looking for in a man."

"No, I wouldn't want anyone who was looking for a killer. But I'm not planning to settle down and have kids, either. Having a wife and children to worry about in our line of work is a bad idea. The women I've met who are in their mid-thirties are either divorced and looking for a new husband to form a family with the children they already have; never married and desperate for children; single for a good reason; or very superficial. I'm not a good match for any of them. I'm thinking about not even bothering anymore." His right leg itched and burned. He tried very hard not to scratch, because Sherlock would give him that disapproving look that was reserved for when he failed to ignore his body.

"Now you know why I don't care for relationships." Sherlock looked at him for the first time since he entered the flat, his gaze cool and analytical as always.

John licked his lips. "I thought it was because you were married to your work."

"The way you describe it, you're also married to our work." He really didn't want to think about the implications of that. Time to deflect this conversation, before it turned uncomfortable.

"I'm just living in sin with our work." The quip got him a small smile. "Dammit, I'm a normal person with a normal libido. I just want to have sex, and I'm not prepared to have sex with strangers, so I need a girlfriend."

"You just don't want your relationships to progress to the so called next level."

"In a manner of speaking, yes." He rose, determined to change the subject completely. "Tea?" he asked, as he walked to the kitchen.

"Tea is the cure for what ails you?"

"It is. I'll see if we have any of that good Darjeeling left."


End file.
